


Body and Soul

by siriusblue



Series: In A Hundred Lifetimes [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bakery and Coffee Shop, Empath, Empathy, Friends to Lovers, Greg's Mum is lovely, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Mycroft is a musician, Sexual Content, Sherlock is a good brother, mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-18 07:27:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13677045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: The ice is firmly broken between two nodding acquaintances thanks to a small boy and a dog one day in the park. Mycroft Holmes is inexplicably drawn to Greg Lestrade and invites him for coffee. Much to his own surprise, Greg accepts. He doesn't realise that Mycroft Holmes is an exceptional human being and may hold the key to Greg's redemption.





	1. Chapter One

BODY AND SOUL 

 

Summary: AU. The ice between two nodding acquaintances is thoroughly broken when Greg Lestrade's young son asks if he can pat Mycroft Holmes’s  dog. Mycroft senses something in the other man, something worrying, and invites him for coffee. Greg surprises himself by accepting. Perhaps this is just what his therapist ordered, to interact more with people, but Mycroft is an extraordinary man who might hold the key to Greg's redemption, even though he has a few secrets of his own.

 

Tweaked from a gifset by the incomparable @letmecomealong on Tumblr and some heavy encouragement from Egmon73 and Black_Dawn have turned meet/cute into a monster. This is a two-person POV fic as well. Help….

  
  
  


Mycroft

 

They took their usual route through the park that morning. When Charlie had been a puppy they had run most of the way and Mycroft had been glad of the chance to sit on the bench and catch his breath. Now Charlie was getting old and was more than happy to walk sedately at his master’s side, still taking pleasure in sniffing everything in his path.  

 

Mycroft sat on the bench and stretched out his long legs with a contented sigh. Grumbling,  Charlie curled up at his feet. It had been a great session last night, the audience had gone wild and the drink had flowed but Mycroft had suspicions that he just might be getting a little old for that kind of thing.

 

Then he saw him. Punctual as ever. The man. 

 

Mycroft had noticed him about six months ago walking in the direction of the school, accompanied by a small boy who held his hand tightly. 

 

Father and son, Mycroft had guessed given the striking resemblance to each other. The boy's hair was jet black while his father's was prematurely grey but both had peat-brown eyes.

 

Mycroft had noticed also, in the days that followed, the boy looking longingly at Charlie while Mycroft and his father exchanged the kind of nod common to passing acquaintances.

 

It made no real sense, but Mycroft made a point of being at that bench at that time every school day, just so he could exchange a nod and, after a few weeks the occasional “Morning” with them.

 

The man was incredibly handsome, even though he had an aura of sadness that clung to him like a heavy overcoat and, just occasionally, Mycroft berated himself. He could find handsome and willing any night of the week, especially with his talent. Music styles might change but groupies were eternal it seemed. And yet he was still there every morning.

 

Mycroft wasn't sure why yet, but he felt inexorably drawn to the man and his son. All would be revealed, he was sure.

 

There was something different that morning, Mycroft could almost taste it. The boy pulled his father over to where Mycroft was sitting.

 

“Can I pat your dog? “ asked the boy shyly.

 

Mycroft smiled. 

 

“Yes, of course. He's very friendly.”

 

“What's his name?”

 

“Charlie. After Charlie Parker.”

 

“He's a staffie, isn't he?”

 

“A red and white one. They're unusual. “

 

Charlie had sat up at their approach and was wagging his tail furiously.

 

“Let him smell your hand first,” cautioned Mycroft. The boy obeyed and giggled as Charlie licked it. 

 

“Go ahead,” said Mycroft. “He likes you.”

 

Tentatively the boy patted Charlie's head then giggled again as the dog rolled onto his back.

 

“Look, Dad. He wants his belly rubbed!” he exclaimed.

 

Mycroft had surreptitiously been watching the father and, just for a moment, saw the sadness lift as he smiled.

 

“Yeah, he does but we'll be late for school. Say thank you, Stephen.”

 

“Thank you,”

 

“Any time.” Mycroft looked again at the father. 

 

“You look like you could use some coffee. Do you know the Cherry Tree cafe?” he asked.

 

The man looked surprised but nodded.

 

“They do the finest lattes in London. I'll buy you one after you've dropped Charlie's new friend off. “

 

“Yes. All right. Come on, you.” and he took the boy's hand again.

 

“Bye Mister. Bye Charlie!”

 

“Bye,” said Mycroft.

 

He stood up and slipped the lead onto Charlie's collar.

 

“Let's go, old man. And best behaviour while we're in there. No begging.” he concluded sternly.

 

The cafe was bright and warm and full of the wonderful smells of coffee and fresh baking. The woman behind the gleaming counter greeted him warmly.

 

“Hey look who it is! Mr Trumpet.You've been away too long,” she scolded. 

 

“Hi, Grace.” said Mycroft sheepishly. 

 

“What can I get you?”

 

“Someone will be joining me shortly. Is it okay to wait till they get here?”

 

Grace looked intrigued.

 

“Course. I'll bring Charlie some water as well. Grab a seat.”

 

Mycroft sat at a table in the window and Charlie lay at his feet. Mycroft took out his phone and checked for messages. 

 

“Sal at The Blue Room wants me for a six piece ensemble tonight,” he said to Charlie. Charlie snored in reply. 

 

“Better say yes, “ grumbled Mycroft.”Someone has to keep you in Winalot.”

 

Mycroft replied to the message in the affirmative and had just put his phone back in his pocket when the cafe door opened and the man walked in. 

 

He stood there looking uncertain till his gaze fell on Mycroft. His face lightened a little as he walked over and took a seat opposite.

 

“Hello,” said Mycroft.

 

“Hi. Erm…”

 

“I promised you coffee. Two seconds “

 

Mycroft went back to the counter where Grace was waiting.

 

“Two lattes,  darling. And a round of your avocado toast.”

 

“Cor,  he's a bit of all right!” murmured Grace as she reached for clean mugs. “About time you blew more than your trumpet.”

 

“You're disgusting. “ said Mycroft, smiling. “He's in a lot of pain, Gracie.”

 

All the levity fled from her face and she looked solemn.

 

“Going to help him?

 

“Going to try.”

 

“Good.” she said fiercely. “Sit down then, I'll bring everything over when it's ready.”

 

Mycroft sat back down opposite the man, who was scratching Charlie behind the ears. The dog looked blissed out and Mycroft grinned.

 

“He'll let you do that all day, you know.”

 

“He's got a lovely nature. I thought his breed were supposed to be fighting dogs. Some of the stories you read…”

 

“He's a lover, not a fighter. No, you shouldn't believe everything you read. I'm Mycroft Holmes.”

 

“Greg Lestrade.”

 

They shook hands, an act that left Mycroft mentally reeling.

 

“Why did you ask me here?,” enquired Greg.

 

“To talk to you. I've never felt such grief in someone for the longest time, Greg. Such hopelessness. For Stephen's sake I really hope you're not going to go through with it. He needs his Dad.”

 

“Who the fuck are you?” 

 

Mycroft felt the other man's anger blossom like a black flower, temporarily blotting out every other emotion.

 

“I told you. Mycroft Holmes. Jazz musician and Charlie's owner.”

 

“You're a lot more than that.”

 

“I assure you, that's all of me.”

 

Greg stood up, his hand accidentally brushing Mycroft's.

 

There. The tiny thread of hope. Mycroft felt it and smiled inwardly.

 

Grace appeared with the food and coffee.

 

“If I were you, I'd sit down. If he can help you, he will.” she told him.

 

“No one can”  said Greg, his voice breaking.

 

“Sit.” said Mycroft.” At least enjoy the coffee. It really is the best in London.”

 

Reluctantly Greg sat down then looked at Mycroft.

 

“Tell me how you knew what I've never told anyone. How could you know? “

 

Mycroft leaned closer and began to speak.

 

TBC 

  
  


 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Greg's POV. He doesn't realise how bad it is till someone sits him down and tells him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning. This chapter contains mention of suicidal thoughts and impulses. If this is a trigger for you please, PLEASE, skip the first half. I honestly can't stress this firmly enough. This is a story of redemption, not of heavy angst.

CHAPTER TWO

 

_ Greg _

 

Today was probably the worst day. 

 

Today should have been filled with warmth and laughter, with birthday cards and presents even if Sophie would have been far too young to appreciate it. 

 

Today shouldn't have started with him sobbing helplessly in a darkened nursery that would never now be used, the fact of getting Stephen to school in time the only thing that seemed to anchor him to reality these days: the one thing stopping him from acting on the dark thoughts that that crowded his brain, their siren call getting more and more persistent despite what he told his therapist.

 

Today should have been perfect.

 

Instead he found himself walking into a cafe to have coffee with a complete stranger and listened as the tall man with thinning red hair and intense blue eyes pulled the dark secret out of his head with all the ease of a magician producing a coin from behind his ear.

 

The woman in the cafe persuaded him to stay instead of storming out, which would have been the natural thing to do.

 

She said this Mycroft Holmes could help him and he sensed something very deep and unspoken in her sincerity.

 

“Tell me how you know what I've never told anyone,” said Greg.

 

Mycroft leaned in closer.

 

“I have what you might call a gift. Or a curse. I'm drawn to extreme emotions and you are like a beacon.”

 

“I don't need another therapist,” muttered Greg.

 

“I assure you, I'm no therapist. I am, however, concerned for you. You are in the pit of despair and you think the only way out of your pain is to end it forever. Think for one second just how devastated your son would be. I sense that you still have hope, however fragile. Please, Greg. Ring your therapist. Do it now. See them today and hold nothing back. They can't help you if you're not completely honest with them.”

 

Greg could see nothing but concern and faint anxiety in the other man's eyes. Any other time, any other place he would have walked out without a backward glance but Mycroft had seen the darkness in his heart.

 

How was something Greg would probably never know, but he took out his phone and made the call.

 

“He's got a cancellation and can see me in half an hour.” he told Mycroft when he hung up.

 

“Good. Remember, don't hide anything or he will be trying to help you with one hand tied behind his back. Finish your coffee before it gets cold.”

 

Greg sipped at the cooling brew. It really was excellent. Mycroft cut into the avocado-topped toast and took a bite, sighing with pleasure.

 

“I suppose I should thank you,” said Greg as he drained his cup.

 

“No thanks necessary. Just promise me you'll get the help you need.” said Mycroft thickly through more toast.

 

“I'll certainly try. Look, I know this is a daft question but you're not my guardian angel or something, are you?” Greg asked with a self-deprecating laugh.

 

Mycroft smiled then, and his whole face lit up.

 

“I'm no angel but if I were I'd probably be Stephen's.  Makes more sense, don't you think.?”

 

“Yes it does.” Greg looked at his watch and swore under his breath. “I've got to go if I'm going to make it in time. How can I ever…”

 

Mycroft waved him away with a twiddle of his long fingers.

 

“Thank me by working on getting better. Charlie and I don't have that many friends that we can afford to lose one. Go.”

 

Greg walked out of the cafe and flagged down a taxi, making it to his therapist’s office with minutes to spare.

 

He walked into the man's office and sat down. The room was painted in restful hues of blue and beige. The abstract art on the walls set Greg's teeth on edge though he was far too polite to say so.

 

“Good morning, Greg. My receptionist seemed to think there was some urgency to your request for an appointment today?”

 

Doctor Gravestock was almost a caricature of a psychiatrist, grey hair, the goatee beard and the horn rimmed glasses, not to mention the three-piece suits were almost a cliche. He just needed an Austrian accent to complete the Freud-In-A-Box set.

 

That being said, Greg trusted him but, as Mycroft would no doubt point out, not nearly enough. 

 

Without pausing to wonder where  _ that _ though came from, Greg said.

 

“I've been lying to you.”

 

“I surmised as much. Go on.”

 

“Today is the first anniversary. Today all I can think about is Cara and Sophie and how much I want to join them.”

 

The doctor looked alarmed.

 

“You’re suicidal? Is this what you haven't been telling me?”

 

“It's always been in the back of my mind,” admitted Greg. “Today really brought it to the forefront. And I dunno, if it hadn't been for Mycroft…”

 

“Who?”

 

Greg explained the bizarre turn of events of that morning. By the end of it, Gravestock’s lip was curled in contempt.

 

“And you believed him? There's a word for people like that, Greg. Charlatans.”

 

“ You weren't there. I don't know this man from Adam yet he sensed what was going on in my head. How else do you explain it?” asked Greg.

 

“He could have Googled you. You're not exactly a nobody, and what happened last year was widely reported in the press. “

 

Greg felt wildly deflated. It was hard to argue with the doctor's logic, yet Mycroft had seemed so sincere, so genuinely concerned…

 

“At least he had the sense to send you here,” went on Gravestock briskly. “It could have gone very badly otherwise. From what you have told me, I could have you sectioned.”

 

Greg looked terrified at the thought.

 

“However, there is your son to consider and I don't believe you are a risk to him or yourself at the moment.”

 

Stephen. The thought of losing him sickened Greg to the core. The poor kid had lost so much already.

 

“You've been taking the medication I prescribed?”

 

“Yes, though between you and me I don't think it's working very well.”

 

“Quite. I'm going to try you on something different. And I want to see you every day around this time for at least a month. Will you agree to that?”

 

Greg considered the alternatives and nodded his head. The doctor smiled.

 

“Good. We have a lot of work to do.”

  
  


_ A Month Later _

 

Greg was in his studio that night putting the final touches to his illustrations for a new children's book. It involved orangutans and life choices but Greg had smiled when he completed his work and pressed ‘Send”  to email it to the publisher.

 

He was exhausted, but it was the kind of exhaustion you get from working hard and using your brain, not the exhaustion of utter despair. He had come a long way in a month.

 

He ran his fingers through his hair and began to tidy his desk. He moved some scrap paper to one side just as Stephen came in, dressed in his pyjamas.

 

He came over to his Dad and peered at his desk.

 

“If you're finished, can we read another chapter once I'm in bed, Dad?” 

 

Greg smiled and ruffled his hair.

 

“Yeah, of course. Just let me tidy this lot up.”

 

He picked up a bunch of draft sketches and saw the one he had made of Mycroft the day after he met him. It wasn't a face Greg was likely to forget but the urge to capture the man's image had been irresistible.

 

“That's Charlie's owner!” exclaimed Stephen. “Why don't we see them anymore, Dad?”

 

“I don't know,” confessed Greg. 

 

Greg hadn't seen man nor dog since that fateful day but he often thought about him and wondered.

 

“C'mon, bedtime. Let's find out how Harry's getting on at Hogwarts. “ smiled Greg, following Stephen into his bedroom and tucking him in.

 

The next day after Stephen had been deposited safely at school, Greg made his way to the Cherry Tree. He was pleased to see it wasn't busy and that Mycroft's friend, the woman with the pink and purple hair was behind the counter.

 

“Hello, handsome,” she said with a saucy grin. “What'll it be?”

 

“I'll have a latte, please. And a minute of your time, if that's okay?”

 

“Take a seat. I'll be with you shortly.” she said.

 

A couple of minutes later she joined him, sipping from a glass of water, watching as Greg stirred sugar into his coffee, her face alight with friendly curiosity.

 

“I wondered if you'd seen Mycroft?” enquired Greg.

 

“From time to time,” she replied, her eyes warm and curious. “ He's been in America for a couple of weeks. New Orleans for the jazz festival. I was looking after Charlie for him.”

 

“You said he would help me, and he did. I want to thank him.”

 

Grace touched his hand where it lay on the table.

 

“You should. He doesn't have a lot of friends and something about you, oh I dunno, I've never seen him so fired up.”

 

Strangely, Greg didn't find that image displeasing.

 

“What kind of man is he?,” asked Greg.”My therapist thinks he's as genuine as a nine-bob note, but I don't believe that.”

 

Grace’s smile vanished and she looked stern.

 

“If it wasn't for Mycroft Holmes, I wouldn't be here now. He's the real deal and somewhere in your heart, you know it.”

 

“What did he do for you?” asked Greg.

 

“Four years ago, I found a lump. I hadn't been in London very long, I didn't know many people and this place was only just starting to get on its feet. I was terrified. Two days after I found it, Mycroft walked in with Charlie. When I handed him his coffee, it was like he'd had an electric shock. I'll never forget what he said. “Go to the doctor. Get it sorted one way or another or the fear will destroy you.”

 

She paused to take a gulp of water.

 

“So I went to the doc. Long story short, it was cancer. I was lucky, they managed to get all of it but if I hadn't gone when I did, it would have been a different story. I get a check-up every year and so far, so good.”

 

“How does he do that?” asked Greg, utterly fascinated.

 

“I don't know and he won't say. That's not what defines him anyway.”

 

She drained her glass and stood up.

 

“Do you know The Blue House?”

 

“It's a club in Soho, isn't it?” 

 

“Yes. That's where he'll be tonight. If you want to see what defines Mycroft Holmes, you'll see it there tonight.”

 

“Thank you.” 

 

“Get there early though,”she advised. “He's really popular.”

 

And with that she returned to the counter to serve some new customers.

 

Greg finished his coffee in a thoughtful frame of mind. As he left, with a wave to a smiling Grace, he took out his mobile and made a call.

 

“Hi, Mum. Can you babysit for me tonight?”

 

TBC.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft gets a surprise at the club. He really wasn't expecting to see Greg again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's liked it so far. I'm working my way through replying to your lovely comments. Just know I cherish every one.

CHAPTER THREE

 

_ Mycroft _

 

Mycroft took the trumpet from his lips as the audience erupted with cheers and loud applause.

 

The Blue House was a bit of a misnomer, he thought. Blue Broom Cupboard might have been more appropriate for it was tiny and the people were so packed in, the walls themselves were sweating. However the acoustics were amazing and nothing could beat that sweet, sweet vibe of a gig going well; all animosity, petty jealousy, lust and heartbreak all swallowed up in one big gust of love for the music.

 

Mycroft knew only too well how some of his fellow musicians took drugs and drank heavily. His own personal high came from the raw emotion of the audience, sometimes it was sublime enough to make him weep.

 

He raised his trumpet again as the bassist picked out the beginning of  _  I Can't Get Started. _

 

That was when, in the midst of the audience, Mycroft spotted him.

 

He was standing on his own, his silver hair standing out amongst the others around him, his focus solely on the stage. Seeing he had been spotted, he toasted Mycroft with his glass and smiled.

 

Greg.

 

Mycroft raised his trumpet in salute to him, it becoming even more imperative that Mycroft give even more than his usual 150 per cent.

 

He and the band concluded the set with  _ Salt Peanuts _ which got everyone boogieing, took their bows and walked offstage, ignoring the clamour for an encore.

 

The dressing room was even tinier than the club but everyone knew each other so well it was no big deal for Mycroft to strip off his sweat-drenched dress shirt and trousers and stuff them into his suit carrier while all around him the rest of the band were doing the same. He replaced them with jeans and a sweatshirt 

 

He placed his trumpet tenderly in its nest of blue velvet and snapped the carrying case shut.

  
  


“Night, guys.” he yelled. “See you soon.” He escaped after a round of back slaps and handshakes, gently declining the offer of going to the pub or for a curry, citing Charlie as his need to get home. 

 

As he slipped out of the club's back door, Greg was standing there, shadowy in the fitful light from the street.

 

“Hello.” smiled Mycroft.

 

“Hi,” Mycroft could feel how nervous Greg was.“Can I buy you a drink?”

 

“Yes, if you like. I'm as dry as an old stick tonight.”

 

There was a big chain pub round the corner and no one took any notice of the two men as they walked in and found a table.

 

“What can I get you?” asked Greg.

 

“A pint of Ruddles would be great.”

 

“Okay. Don't wander off.”

 

Mycroft watched as Greg joined the scrum at the bar. He felt touched that Greg had taken the time to seek him out. He could sense a change in Greg but he would have to be much closer to see if it was a change for the better.

 

Mycroft had thought about Greg from time to time when he was away, hoping he'd found the help he needed but, as Greg returned from the bar with two pints and a warm smile on his handsome face, Mycroft considered that those thoughts might not have been entirely altruistic. 

 

He saw women eyeing Greg speculatively, then looking disappointed as he rejoined Mycroft. He sensed their desire. He didn't blame them. 

 

He was also acutely aware of being sweaty and rumpled but nothing could be done about that.

 

“How did you know where to find me?” asked Mycroft, after he thanked Greg for the beer.

 

“I went to see Grace.” replied Greg sheepishly. “It's just...I hadn't seen you around...Stephen was asking...I wanted…”

 

“Breathe,” advised Mycroft. “Grace told you I'd be at the Blue House tonight?”

 

“Yes. I wanted to thank you again. You were incredible up there, by the way. You're very talented.”

 

“Do you like jazz?” asked Mycroft.

 

“I like all sorts of music,” admitted Greg. “But I've never heard anyone play the trumpet like you. “

 

“I'm flattered.” said Mycroft, lifting his glass again. “Tell me, Greg. How are you really?”

 

“I'm doing better. Seeing my therapist regularly. Taking the pills. You know the drill. My therapist called you a charlatan.”

 

“Did they?” Mycroft huffed a soft laugh. “I've been called worse. I take it you told them about me?”

 

“I told him you saved my life,” Greg corrected him. “If you hadn't spoken to me that morning...I dunno. I like to think I would have been able to fight it, but who can say for sure.”

 

“Don't dwell on it, “ said Mycroft. “Is Stephen doing okay?”

 

“He is. My mum's looking after him tonight. Kids are pretty resilient.”

 

“I'll have to take your word for that, I don't have any of my own.”

 

“Can I buy you another pint?” asked Greg.

 

Mycroft declined with genuine sorrow.

 

“I'm sorry, Greg. I have to get home.”

 

“Will the missus give you a hard time for staying out?”  

 

Mycroft raised one sardonic eyebrow.

 

“There never has been a missus. Nor has there been a mister for a very long time.”

 

He gave Greg a few seconds to digest that little personal nugget to gauge his reaction. He just looked sad for Mycroft, warmth still there in those incredible eyes.

 

“I have to get back for Charlie.” he explained. “I don't like to leave him too long.

 

“Yeah, of course. Look, why don't you let me buy you a coffee tomorrow? I'd like to talk to you some more.”

 

Mycroft smiled and nodded.

 

“I'd like that very much. I'll be waiting on the bench in the morning like usual.”

 

“Goodnight, then.” said Greg, extending his hand.

 

Mycroft shook it. He felt how Greg's black despair had retreated, replaced by acceptance and aching loss but he also sensed faint anticipation and... _ oh, my. That's something I wasn't expecting.  _ Attraction. Unacknowledged as yet, probably, but definitely there.

 

“Goodnight, Greg. I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

Mycroft picked up his trumpet and garment bag and headed for the Tube.

 

When he got home, Charlie was curled up in Mycroft's favourite chair. He stretched, yawned and grumbled.

 

“Okay,” muttered Mycroft. “I'm only an hour later than usual. C'mon let's get you out for a pee.”

 

He clipped the lead onto Charlie's  collar and they went out into the warm.night.

  
  
  


The next morning, Mycroft took extra care with his appearance,  a crisp new shirt and dress trousers under his best jacket. He checked himself in the mirror before he left and saw he was smiling.

 

“Idiot. It's only coffee.” he told his reflection, but that didn't diminish his smile nor did it do anything to take away the new spring in his step.

 

Even Charlie seemed energised, trotting along side his master with his ears pricked and his tail wagging.

 

They waited on the bench and Charlie woofed a greeting as he caught the scent of Greg and Stephen, his tail going nine to the dozen as they approached.

 

“Hello, Mr Holmes. Is it okay to pet Charlie?” asked Stephen. Mycroft saw a new sparkle in the boy's eyes and was glad.

 

“He'd he offended if you didn't.” said Mycroft with a smile. Charlie obliged by rolling onto his back and writhing ecstatically as his belly got scratched.

 

“I'll go and order the coffee,” murmured Mycroft to Greg. He stood up as Stephen gave Charlie one more pat. “Have a good day at school, Stephen.”

 

“It's maths,” said Stephen gloomily  “I'd rather be with you and my dad.”

 

“Another time, “ promised Greg. “Let's go.”

 

Mycroft watched them walk away.

 

“Did you hear that?” he asked Charlie. “Another time. I just hope he doesn't run away screaming when I tell him what I really am. Then we might be in with a chance.”

 

Charlie looked thoroughly disinterested.

 

“I don't know why I bother talking to you,” sighed Mycroft. “Let's go and see Grace. It's cheese muffin day today.”

 

Charlie's ears pricked up and he started to pull Mycroft in the direction of the Cherry Tree.

 

“Oh, _ now  _ you're listening.” grumbled Mycroft. 

 

He carried on walking, anticipation in every step.

 

TBC

  
  



	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg discovers the source of Mycroft's gift and also discovers he might just have made a new friend.

CHAPTER FOUR

 

_ Greg _

 

When he entered the cafe, Greg saw Mycroft sitting at the same table as before, Charlie lying at his feet, with two mugs of coffee on the table.

 

Grace wasn't there, her place behind the counter had been filled by a rather portly middle-aged man with a shy smile. 

 

Greg sat at the table across from Mycroft and smiled.

 

“It's good to see you again,” said Greg, reaching for the sugar bowl.”I thought it was my turn for the coffees.”

 

“It still is,” smiled Mycroft. “Have you eaten this morning? I was going to order one of David's TLTs. “

 

“I'm starving,” admitted Greg. “ But what on earth is a TLT?”

 

“Try one,” suggested Mycroft. “ I suggested they rename it I Can't Believe It's Not Bacon. It's tofu, lettuce and tomato with some of Grace’s secret marinade. Honestly, you won't regret it.”

 

“Sounds good. Here, I'll get them.”

 

Greg got up and placed the order at the counter, taking out his wallet to pay but the man behind the counter, David, shooed him away.

 

“Your money's no good here.” he said. “After what Mycroft did for my Grace, I'll never take a penny off him. Or his friend.”

 

“Thank you very much,” said Greg and went back to his seat.

 

Mycroft was grinning as he sat down.

 

“You might have warned me,” muttered Greg.

 

“They're generous to a fault,” conceded Mycroft. “I try not to take advantage. Except on cheese muffin day.”

 

“I'm not even going to ask,” laughed Greg.

 

The sat quietly for a few minutes, sipping their coffee but it was a far from uncomfortable silence until there was a yelp and scrabbling of claws from under the table. Greg must have looked startled for Mycroft huffed out another of his soft laughs.

 

“Charlie's chasing cats in his sleep.” he explained. “When he's awake, he runs away from them. I suppose we're all brave in our dreams.”

 

“I suppose so. I don't sleep much these days. It's surprising how creative you can be at night when half the world's asleep.” admitted Greg.

 

“Creative? What exactly do you do, Greg? “ Mycroft asked.

 

“I'm an artist. I'm freelance now.”

 

Mycroft leaned closer, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. He looked genuinely interested, thought Greg. No one had given him such undivided attention in a long time and he found it pleasant.

 

“What kind of art? Would I have seen any of your stuff?”

 

“I do a lot of illustrations for kids books. I've had an exhibition or two and I'm about to start a commission for the Royal Ballet.”

 

Mycroft looked impressed.

 

“Speaking as someone who draws questionable stick figures, I am in awe of your talent.” he said. “You may come across my brother if you're becoming involved with the ballet. He's one of the principals.”

 

It was Greg's turn to be impressed.

 

“You're a very talented family.Does your brother share your, er,   _ other  _ talent?”

 

He had been dying to know, but Greg thought it would have been appalling manners to turn up and ask what kind of weird shit it was that Mycroft could do.

 

“More than you can know. He reads people the way you would read a newspaper. Not that he puts it to any discernible use. Sherlock’s only passion is dance.“

 

Just then David arrived with two fully loaded plates. Mycroft paused to thank him.

 

“So how do you do what you do? It's okay if you don't want to tell me but I'd really like to know.” asked Greg.

 

“I wondered how long it would take you to ask. You seem like a man who keeps his own counsel. Would I be correct?” Mycroft looked deadly serious, then broke eye contact to half his sandwich. 

 

“If you're asking if I can keep a secret, then yes.” confirmed Greg.

 

“Good. I like you, Greg. I had hoped we might become friends but I can't do that with someone I can't trust.”

 

Impulsively Greg squeezed his hand.

 

“Tell me. I swear it'll go no further. And whatever it is won't change the fact that I like you as well. “

 

He bit into his sandwich and his eyes widened with pleasure.

 

“That's incredible!” he said thickly. “You'd never need bacon again. Wow!”

 

Mycroft looked smug. 

 

“Told you. Well, here's the thing. I'm an empath. It's not a trick or something you can learn, I was born with it.”

 

Greg's eyes were like saucers.

 

“I've heard of empathy but never someone being an empath. It's like something out of  _ Star Trek.  _ Are you sure you're not an alien?”

 

Mycroft looked relieved and Greg realised that Mycroft had been nervous about telling him in case he got up and walked out, never to be seen again. And Greg was certain it had happened to him before. He felt a surge of affection for the man across the table and grinned at the faint roses blooming in Mycroft's cheeks, realising he knew what he was feeling.

 

“No, I'm 100% human, I assure you. It's very rare and tends to run in families. As far as I have been able to discern, it's a part of the brain which is vestigial in the majority of people that is fully-functional in mine. I sense intense emotion from a distance and I can sense the more subtle emotions through touch. Like I told you the day I met you, it's both a blessing and a curse.”

 

“ I can understand that.” said Greg gently. “Must make life complicated. Relationships and whatnot.”

 

“It does,” sighed Mycroft. “Some people would wish to exploit you for their own personal gain, some would see a carnival exhibit. Which is why I don't tell anyone the whole of it.”

 

“You told me, though.”

 

“There's something about you, Greg. As I said, I like you. And I think I can trust you.”

 

Greg preened a bit at that. He sensed this was something Mycroft had rarely shared. Though why him didn't come into it. He found the man fascinating and felt touched Mycroft would take him into his confidence. 

 

“And you're lonely. I don't need to be an empath to see that.”

 

“I'm not lonely, Greg. I have music, I have Charlie. It's enough.”

 

“Stephen likes you.” ventured Greg. “He thinks you're very kind. It's been hard for him, this past year, losing his mum like that. He doesn't trust anyone except me and his Grandma yet he talks about you a lot.”

 

“He's a sweet boy. Charlie adores him and that's good enough for me. Children are much harder to read, mostly because they don't know what they're feeling half the time. If both of you need a friend however…”

 

The offer was there and Greg didn't hesitate.

 

“Yes. I'd like to know you a lot better. General stuff, music, sport, politics, beer, everything.”

 

“That's quite a tall order,” cautioned Mycroft. 

 

“Doesn't matter,” laughed Greg, his heart suddenly ten times lighter. “There's no rush. Why don't I buy you a pint tomorrow night? Somewhere quiet where we can actually talk.”

 

“I know just the place,” said Mycroft. “And I'm not playing tomorrow night so that sounds great. If you give me your number, I'll text you. Say around seven?”

 

They exchanged mobile numbers and Greg finished his sandwich, the last bite as exquisite as the first.

 

“See you tomorrow then,” said Greg. “Bye, Charlie.”

 

Charlie grunted in reply.

  
  


Greg made his way to his Mum's house, relieved to find her in.

 

“Can you babysit tomorrow night?” asked Greg as they sat in her cosy living room with mugs of tea.

 

“Of course. Twice in one week? I'm intrigued.”

 

Greg's mum loved to tease him. It was one of the strands of the strong bond that held them together. Her life hadn't been an easy one, bringing up Greg single-handed. When he began to make serious money from his art, giving her security had been one of his first priorities.

 

“I think I've made a new friend. We're going for a pint. He's a jazzman. You should hear him play,  Mum. He's brilliant.”

 

Mrs Lestrade’s smile was both fond and knowing.

 

“It's about time you got out and enjoyed yourself a bit. Stephen won't thank you if you turn into a recluse.  I miss Cara too, Greg but life really does have to go on.  And it's been years since you had a boyfriend.”

 

“It's not a date, Mum.” said Greg patiently.

 

“So what's he like?”

 

“ He's about my age, maybe a bit younger. Tall,  red hair, blue eyes. Very talented. I think you'd like him. His name's Mycroft.”

 

“Unusual name. Well, I'll be at your house for about half six. Will that be enough time?”

 

“Thanks, Mum, you're a lifesaver. Now how are things with you and Jim?” teased Greg, desperately trying to change the subject.

 

TBC 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Holmes brothers have dinner. Then it's movie night for three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for Black_Dawn without whom this would have probably gone nowhere. Thank you, lovely.

CHAPTER FIVE

 

_ Mycroft _

  
  
  


_ Two Months Later. _

 

“Hello, little brother.”

 

Mycroft slid into the seat across the table from his sibling.

 

It was typical of Sherlock to pick one of the most fashionable restaurants in London for their semi-regular meetings, Mycroft thought. Here Sherlock could see and be seen, it was a perfect foil for his masculine beauty.

 

In a designer suit with his hair artfully ruffled all eyes were on Sherlock, yet he looked sulky as he toyed with his wine glass.

 

“You’re almost late.” was his greeting.

 

“I couldn't get a taxi,” replied Mycroft. “Have you ordered?”

 

“Just the wine. 2001 St. Emilion.  When are you going to get a car?”

 

“I'm not, I don't need  one and when I do, I'll hire one.”

 

“You'd better decide what you want before the sexually frustrated waiter with child care problems and undiagnosed eczema comes back.”

 

“Sherlock,” warned Mycroft. “You promised not to do that anymore.”

 

Sherlock pouted as Mycroft perused the menu. 

 

“I was bored waiting for you. And I can't help it if he sends out signals like a lighthouse, can I?”

 

“Honestly, it's like boarding school all over again.” groaned Mycroft. “ Keep your observations and deductions to yourself unless someone is in real danger. Even then you risk a black eye or worse.”

 

“It's okay,  I didn't say anything. Oh look, here he comes. Have you decided?”

 

“Naturally.”

 

“Good evening, gentlemen. What can I get you?” asked the waiter, placing the wine bottle on the table. Mycroft waved away his offer to pour.

 

Sherlock leaned forward, mischief in his eyes.

 

“I'll have the pigeon breast to start, followed by the steak tartare.”

 

“You pig!” huffed Mycroft. “I'll have the goat's cheese and onion tart and the miso glazed aubergine. Thank you.”

 

“Is it  _ really _ necessary for you to eat raw meat every time we have dinner, brother mine?” asked Mycroft as the waiter hurried away to place their orders.

 

“I only do it to wind you up,” laughed Sherlock. “It beats me how you haven't wasted away. Though come to think of it, you're looking surprisingly well. Happy almost. Anything you want to share?”

 

“Don't be ridiculous!” exclaimed Mycroft. He might have the mental shielding to keep Sherlock out but he couldn't stop blushing and Sherlock looked triumphant.

 

“I knew it! “ he crowed. “Tell me.”

 

“No. Anyway, it's not what your prurient little mind thinks. I've made a new friend, that's all.”

 

“Oh, Mikey! You need to get laid. And soon or you'll go blind.”

 

“Don't call me Mikey,” hissed Mycroft.”I'm not like you, Mr Anyone-With-A-Pulse.”

 

“Recent pulse.” Sherlock corrected him and laughed and Mycroft couldn't help joining in. 

 

“Speaking of which…” he enquired delicately.

 

“Lovely new ballerina has just joined.” said Sherlock. “Molly Hooper. Very talented. I think I might be in there. She blushes and stammers if anyone looks at her yet she dances like a dream.”

 

“Poor girl, someone should tell her what an utter shit you are. It might put her off.”

 

“I don't doubt someone already has,” conceded Sherlock. “And yet people still find me irresistible.”

 

Mycroft shook his head and drank some wine.

 

“To change the subject completely, Mummy says she hasn't heard from you in a while. “ said Sherlock. “You need to ring her.”

 

“What for?” Mycroft tried to keep the annoyance in his voice to a minimum. “For another lecture on how I'm wasting my life? And how I should be settled down by now and carrying on the family name?”

 

“Good point,” said Sherlock. “Ring her anyway. If only to stop her nagging me about how you never call.”

 

Their starters arrived and Mycroft realised how hungry he was. They didn't speak again till the table had been cleared for their entrees.

 

“We’ve got an artist coming in next week,” said Sherlock. “Gregory Lestrade. He's doing a series for the grand foyer, apparently. He must be good if he's been commissioned for that.”

 

Mycroft made some non-committal noises into his wine glass.

 

“Have you got a gig tomorrow?” asked Sherlock.

 

“No, I've got other plans. I'm doing the Velvet Rope on Sunday. Irene is back in London.”

 

“You lucky sod. She's the best,” sighed Sherlock. 

 

The waiter reappeared and Mycroft averted his eyes as Sherlock tucked into his steak tartare.

 

They declined dessert and ordered coffee instead.

 

“It's been good catching up,” said a replete Sherlock. “Let's not leave it so long next time.”

 

He gave the waiter his card and added a generous tip when they were done.

 

Outside they hugged each other and Sherlock whispered “Have a good time with your “friend” tomorrow. I'll see you soon, brother mine.”

 

Mycroft swore when he realised Sherlock had read him like a book. Even his shield hadn't been strong enough to conceal his affection for Greg. 

 

Mycroft was just putting the popcorn in the microwave the following night when the doorbell rang. Charlie barked once then ran round in circles when he realised who it was.

 

It has become a regular thing over the past couple of weeks with the three of them. Movie night with popcorn and pizza at Mycroft's house. 

 

Stephen was carrying the pizza boxes which he handed to Mycroft with a grin before dropping to the floor to play with Charlie.

 

Hi,” said Greg, taking off his jacket and hanging it up. 

 

“Hello. I'll just put these in the kitchen. Popcorn will be ready in a minute. Get comfy,” Mycroft said, gesturing to the sofa.

 

Ten minutes later the three of them were engrossed in watching Star Wars.

 

Stephen, squashed between the two men, hid his face when Darth Vader appeared on the screen but Mycroft could only sense contentment from both of them.

 

Every time he saw Greg, Mycroft sensed his friend's grief was lessening. It might be at a glacial pace but he could feel Greg's natural optimism returning and was glad.

 

Stephen had been a revelation. He had accepted Mycroft without a second thought, happy that his Dad had a friend and that he could play with Charlie as much as he liked. Mycroft found him an engaging child, passionate about dinosaurs and building things. He also showed artistic promise that Greg tried not to be too proud of and failed.

 

They cheered when Luke destroyed the Death Star and when R2-D2 reappeared at the end by which time Stephen was trying not to yawn.

 

“C'mon you. Bedtime.” said Greg, undeceived. “Say goodnight.”

 

“Goodnight and thank you, Mycroft. Goodnight Charlie.”

 

“Goodnight, both of you. I'll see you next week.”

 

“I've got my new commission starting Monday,” said Greg. “Wish me luck.”

 

“You won't need it,” smiled Mycroft as he saw them out. “You're brilliant, remember?”

 

Greg's smile made Mycroft's heart stutter in his chest.

 

“I hope everyone else thinks so. Goodnight.”

 

Mycroft watched them get in the car and drive away before he took Charlie out for his final walk.

 

When he got back, his phone chimed with a text message. It was from Greg.

 

_ Might have my usual crisis of confidence next week. Will you lend a sympathetic ear? x _

 

_ Any time, just ring me x _

 

As he put his mobile down, he realised he was smiling.

 

It was nice to be needed.

 

TBC

  
  
  
  



	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg has a couple of disturbing conversations.

CHAPTER SIX

 

_ Greg _

 

“Good morning, Greg. How have you been this week?”

 

Greg shifted in the chair that was directly across from Dr Gravestock.

 

“I'm doing okay. Keeping busy.”

 

“In what way?”

 

“Since I told my agent I was available for work again, I've been flooded with commissions. In fact, I'm due at the theatre after this.”

 

“I see. That is certainly an improvement And are you sleeping better now?”

 

Greg grimaced.

 

“A bit.”

 

The doctor frowned at that and Greg felt the need to elaborate.

 

“It's a bit like...I dunno. Nowhere near as bad as it was in the past. I'm...coping. If I feel overwhelmed, I ring my friend. 

 

Greg didn't add that Mycroft always seemed to know when Greg was having a hard time. He would text, or ring and on one occasion had turned up at Greg's house unannounced with a bottle of Shiraz. They had talked about films and music and whether or not Jeremy Corbyn was a good Labour leader for hours until Greg was a little drunk from the wine and could feel the grief retreating.

 

He's very supportive.” Greg finished lamely.

 

“It's good you have increased your support network. I know you don't make friends easily. It's healthy that you want to form new relationships.”

 

Greg looked stony-faced at the doctor. Whatever he had with Mycroft, this fragile, beautiful thing, wasn't something he was willing to talk about to anyone. That night with the Shiraz had been a bit of a revelation.

 

_ It had been Cara's birthday. Greg had taken Stephen to the cemetery after school where they had laid a bouquet of her favourite flowers by the headstone. When Stephen was tucked up in bed that night Greg had wept silently on the sofa.  _

 

_ The doorbell had rung and there, like a miracle made flesh, was Mycroft. _

 

_ Greg had invited him in, fetched glasses and a corkscrew, all too aware of his reddened eyes and streaming nose. Mycroft never said why he was there but Greg had never been so pleased to see him. _

 

_ Mycroft didn't ask how he was, instead he had talked about how dismal Arsenal had been that week, sitting on the sofa with his long legs stretched out, toes digging into the rug. _

 

_ Much later as Mycroft had leaned over to refill his glass, Greg had said _

 

_ “Have you ever been in love?” _

 

_ Mycroft had grinned at him as he replied.  _

 

_ “Of course. I fell in love when I was eight years old and my mother bought me my first trumpet. People, not really. I see far too much, it puts you off a bit.” _

 

_ Greg had the impression that he wasn't being exactly honest. The soft light in the room had turned his hair to burnished copper and Greg felt a yearning, undefined but assuredly there. _

 

_ Mycroft's gaze had softened then and they moved on to less precarious topics. _

 

“You have made great progress.” said Dr Gravestock,recalling Greg sharply to the present. “I'm pleased. If this continues I may consider weaning you off your medication. Shall we say the same time next week?”

 

“Yes, okay.” said Greg. He couldn't wait to get out of there and get started at Sadlers Wells.

  
  
  


The director of the ballet met Greg in the foyer and took him to her office.

 

“Everyone knows you're coming, Mr Lestrade,” said Sally Donovan. “They're very excited.”

 

“I'll try not to get in the way,” promised Greg. “I know the sort of scenes I want to depict. What's everyone doing at the moment?”

 

“We're rehearsing Coppelia.” she replied.

 

“Perfect. I need to be able to get as close as possible.” Already his fingers were itching for paper and pencil.

 

“Access all areas, talk to whoever you want, they've all given their permission to be drawn. I think they're all hoping to be immortalised by you. I'm a huge fan, by the way.”

 

Greg was incredibly flattered.

 

“I'd better make a start then,” he told her.

  
  
  


Rehearsals were in full swing as Greg took his position in the wings. He only needed a sketchbook and some decent pencils; the hard work would start when he got back to his studio.

 

He covered page after page of his book with delicate figures in impossibly painful (to him) poses but the real standout was the male principal dancer.

 

He was grace personified, tall, athletic and looked like a Regency poet with his dark curls and opaline eyes. His movements were flawless and Greg couldn't help but stare. 

 

When a break was called the man loped effortlessly across the stage to Greg. Even in rehearsal tights and flats the man was impossibly handsome. He considered Greg for a moment before extending a hand for him to shake.

 

“Sherlock Holmes. You must be Gregory Lestrade?”

 

“Greg, please,” 

 

The other man's nose wrinkled slightly then he smiled.

 

“You know my brother. You're right, we don't look much alike but in my case it's an advantage. It's funny, Mycroft doesn't really have friends, unless you count Charlie, but I can see why he likes having you around. You're definitely a cut above his usual waifs and strays “

 

Greg realised his mouth was hanging open and he shut it with a snap. He remembered Mycroft's warning about Sherlock but he wasn't going to at least try and defend himself.

 

“I probably wouldn't be here if it wasn't for your brother,” said Greg evenly. “He's my friend, whatever you might think.”

 

Sherlock leaned in and spoke with deadly seriousness.

 

“I'm very protective of my brother. I won't stand to see him hurt by anyone. Even someone as pretty as you.”

 

Then his expression cleared and Greg was treated to a beaming smile.

 

“But I can see that's not going to be a problem. You should tell him. Honestly. Tell him.”

 

And with that, Sherlock walked away.

  
  


Deeply shaken, Greg collected his sketches and materials together. If he was quick, he'd be in time to pick Stephen up. Tonight was movie night and Mycroft was bringing  _ Return of the Jedi _ .

 

“Tell him what?” muttered Greg. “How grateful I am? How much he's helped me? How much I like spending time with him? He knows all that anyway.”

 

He didn't want to acknowledge his drunken musings of the other night. That was the wine talking. Wasn't it?

 

Confused as anything, Greg headed for his car.

 

TBC


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's exhibition opens and there's a surprise for Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the incredible Black_Dawn without whom they would still be in the park. In my head.

CHAPTER SEVEN 

 

_ Mycroft _

 

The last lingering notes of  _ Moon River  _ echoed through the Velvet Rope and Mycroft watched Irene Adler take her bow from where he had been accompanying her at the side of the stage.

 

She was, without a doubt, the finest burlesque dancer he had ever seen and, judging by the applause and cheers, he wasn't the only one who thought so. 

 

She had turned something with sleazy connotations into an art form and it was wonderful to watch.

 

They ran offstage and Irene wrapped herself in a silk kimono while Mycroft emptied the spit valve on his trumpet.

 

“Good crowd tonight, “ said Irene. “Thanks for stepping in at the last minute, Mycroft.”

 

Mycroft could sense her euphoria and grinned.

 

“It's fine. I was available and you're always great fun to work with. Are you still teaching classes in this?” he enquired.

 

“On, yeah. I get all sorts wanting to learn burlesque.” Her crystal blue eyes twinkled. “From students to police officers. I even had a judge try it once.”

 

“They should learn from.the best.” he complimented her.

 

“You're very sweet to say so. Let's have dinner, I'm starving.” 

 

“Okay, but I can't stay too long.” he cautioned. 

 

They found a little Italian place close by and devoured steaming plates of ravioli mopped up with garlic bread.

 

“How's your utter shit of a brother?” asked Irene as they sipped Amarettos afterwards.

 

“Still an utter shit. Greg has been working there off and on for the past month and he doesn't know how Sherlock hasn't been punched before now.”

 

Irene looked intrigued.

 

“Who's Greg?” she asked.

 

“My friend. He's an artist. The ballet commissioned him recently and it's taking up all his time. When I do see him, he looks so happy and enthused. It's what he was made to do.”

 

“He sounds nice. Are you and he…”

 

“No.” replied Mycroft firmly. “Like I said, he's my friend. He lost his wife in childbirth about eighteen months ago and he's still struggling with that.”

 

“Christ!” Irene was appalled. “It's like something out of the Dark Ages. You wouldn't think something like that could happen in this day and age, would you?”

 

“I know.” said Mycroft heavily. “So how about you? Are you seeing anyone?”

 

Irene smiled.

  
  
  


Mycroft had just got into bed in the early hours of the morning when he got a text from Greg.

 

_ Need to get away from the smell of paint and white spirit. Fancy a pint tomorrow night if you're not busy? x _

 

Mycroft replied in the affirmative and settled onto the pillows with a smile. It would be good to see Greg later. They had both been so caught up with work recently it has been hard to connect, and Mycroft had missed him and Stephen but he was glad that Greg was moving on. 

 

In the dark, in his own bed, Mycroft could admit that he wanted to move on with Greg. Whether Greg wanted the same was a question yet unanswered, but as long as Mycroft could stay in his life in some capacity he'd be content. 

 

He had dodged the love question the night Greg had asked. Love for Mycroft hadn't come like a thunderbolt,  it had seeped in slowly and insidiously until he couldn't imagine a life before or after Greg Lestrade.

 

He would see him tomorrow. He was happy with that.

  
  
  


Mycroft spotted him the minute he walked into the Pig and Whistle the next night. Greg beamed at him as he sat down and took a swallow of the pint already waiting for him.

 

“It’s great to see you,” enthused Greg. “I've been going mad in the studio.”

 

“How's it all going?” asked Mycroft.

 

“It's done.” said Greg triumphantly. “Four canvases and six portraits plus some other stuff I've been sort of fiddling around with. They're having an exhibition of them next week before they get put in their final setting. Would you like to come? I've been given some complimentary tickets.”

 

“I'd love to,” said Mycroft warmly. “How’s Stephen doing?”

 

“He's got a new mate. The school has this sort of buddy system and the kids all take turns. If someone new starts, one of the kids takes them under their wing, shows them the ropes, that sort of thing.”

 

“That's a good system. I take it Stephen got picked.”

 

“Yeah,” smiled Greg. “Turns out this Sean is an even bigger fossil geek than he is. He's a nice lad, very polite. His mums are lovely as well.”

 

“Mums?”

 

“Yup. Laura and Elise. Elise is a lawyer and Laura has just got a new post as a lecturer at South Bank, hence the move. Some of the other older kids have been a bit...you know.” Greg bit his lip and shook his head.

 

“Kids can be horrible. What does Stephen think?” asked Mycroft.

 

“He couldn't care less. All he sees is a new best friend who has a loving family.”

 

Greg paused and took a deep swallow of his pint.

 

“It's his birthday next month. He'll be eight. I asked him if he wanted a party but he said no. D’you know what he wants instead?”

 

Mycroft shook his head.

 

“New PlayStation? New IPhone? I don't know what kids like.”

 

Greg laughed, long and loud and Mycroft sensed, probably for the first time in their friendship, no shadow or lingering guilt in Greg and was delighted.

 

“You don't, do you?” smiled Greg fondly. “No, he wants a day at the Natural History Museum. Him and Sean.  And there's something else. He wants you there too.”

 

“Me? Why me?”

 

“You're his friend as well. Then Pizza Express afterwards. You up for that?”

 

“Of course. I'll get Grace to mind Charlie for the day. Tell him thank you.”

 

“I will. Go on, it's your turn to get the beer in.”

  
  
  


The following week found Mycroft in Harrods shopping for a new suit. It was the opening night of Greg's exhibition and Mycroft wanted to look his best.

 

He settled on a dark grey Paul Smith and treated himself to a shirt and tie to complement it, hurrying home to change.

 

First he took Charlie for a long walk which didn't stop the dog giving him the evil eye as he checked his reflection in the mirror.

 

“Don't look at me like that,” said Mycroft. “This is important to Greg. I won't be late, so stop grumbling.”

 

Charlie gave a martyred sigh and closed his eyes.

 

Mycroft chuckled as he locked his front door and went out to find a taxi.

  
  
  


Bond Street was still busy despite the late hour but Mycroft found the gallery with no problems.

 

“Ticket, sir.” asked the bored doorman who looked like a bouncer. Mycroft handed over the engraved invitation and went inside.

 

The gallery was crowded with well-dressed people and Mycroft was pleased he had made the extra effort.

 

The feeling in the room was one of appreciation and a tiny bit of awe. He looked around but couldn't see Greg's silver head anywhere so he accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and went to look at the paintings.

 

He had made it his business to become familiar with Greg's work but these massive canvases were some of the finest he had ever seen. Around him braying voices were going on about the clarity of it and the delicate brushwork but all Mycroft could see was Greg's keen eye and incredible talent. In one Mycroft saw Sherlock, every muscle taut as he leapt in the air. Mycroft felt as though he could reach through the canvas and touch living flesh.

 

“So,” said a familiar voice. “What do you think?”

 

Mycroft turned to see Greg standing there, a shy smile on his face. Mycroft registered how handsome he looked in a suit. Beside him was an older woman who was absolutely glowing with maternal pride. 

 

“They're fantastic, Greg.” he replied enthusiastically. “Really brilliant.”

 

“Thanks. Mycroft, this is my mum. Mum, this is my friend, Mycroft.”

 

He shook hands with her, feeling her curiosity and warm approval. She was a pure soul and Mycroft instinctively liked her.

 

“Lovely to meet you, Mrs Lestrade.”

 

“You too, Mycroft. I've heard a lot about you from my grandson.”

 

“Where is he?” asked Mycroft.

 

“Having a sleepover at Sean's house,” she replied.

 

She looked at her son and his friend and said “I'm going to have another look round, see if I can't blag some more champagne. See you again, Mycroft.”

 

As she walked away the two men burst into fits of silent giggles. 

 

“I need some air,” gasped Greg. “Come on.”

 

The huge French doors in the gallery had been opened and Mycroft followed Greg out onto the balcony.

 

“It's a huge hit,” mused Mycroft, setting his empty glass down on the rail. “Your mum is lovely, by the way.”

 

“Thanks, she'll be thrilled.”

 

Mycroft noticed how close Greg was to him now, close enough to smell his aftershave and feel a deep undercurrent of...something.

 

“You look incredible in a suit,” said Greg. 

 

“I have been known to scrub up quite well on occasion,” said Mycroft lightly. “How much of that champagne have you had, by the way?”

 

“Hardly any,” Greg was close enough now for a whisper to be audible.”Enough for me to do this.”

 

Greg closed the gap between them and kissed Mycroft. It was a soft, tentative kiss, a testing of the water, but Mycroft was almost felled by the emotion behind it. 

 

Greg looked anxious as their lips parted but Mycroft smiled and kissed him back, revelling in the feel of Greg in his arms, Greg's warm hand on the back of his neck.

 

“I've wanted to do that for ages,” Greg confessed. “It was better than I could have imagined. Mycroft…”

 

“Let's just enjoy tonight,” said Mycroft quietly. “We can talk tomorrow, yeah?”

 

Greg didn't reply, just held him closer.

  
  


TBC

 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After The Kiss, Greg is feeling a bit conflicted...

CHAPTER EIGHT

 

_ Greg  _

 

The morning after the exhibition Greg woke up early.

 

It was Sunday and it was the first proper free day he had had in ages. He felt vaguely guilty for sitting around in his pyjamas drinking coffee but theorized Stephen wouldn't be back any time soon so he should make the most of it.

 

The news was irritating so he switched it off and considered going out to get a newspaper, then realised he was prevaricating. 

 

He was seeing Mycroft tonight. They had arranged it after they had returned to the gallery last night and he really needed to think.

 

It had been an amazing kiss. He had been the one to initiate it after all, high on adrenaline and knocked sideways by how lovely his friend had looked, he hadn't been able to help himself.

 

Greg worried that he'd made a mistake, would be luring Mycroft into something that could hurt him and destroy their friendship forever.  

 

He realised he needed some perspective but who on earth could he talk to about something as new and precious as this?

 

He looked at his wedding photograph which took pride of place on the living room wall. Him and Cara, their arms around each other, ecstatically happy with the rest of their lives in front of them.

 

“I love you and I always will,” he said to her photograph. “You made me so happy and gave me the best gift of all. Our son. And I miss you so much it hurts sometimes. I know you loved me. You wouldn’t want me to be miserable for the rest of my life, would you? You’d want me to be happy, to take a chance that it’ll all work out. And Stephen really likes him. Him and his dog. It doesn’t mean I love you any less, this is different. I thought my heart died with you and Sophie, but it seems it didn’t. I’m not quite sure what to think of that.”

 

Her dark eyes, Stephen’s eyes, remained inscrutable.

 

When the house phone rang, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

 

“Hello, Greg. It's Laura. “ said a voice when he answered it.

 

“Oh shit. What's happened?”

 

There was a moment of silence followed by some delicious feminine laughter.

 

“Nothing,” He sagged with relief. “Stephen wants to ask you something.”

 

“Oh, okay,” he replied. 

 

“Hi, Dad. “ said Stephen. “ Sean’s mums want to take me and him out for breakfast. Is that okay?”

 

“Yeah, of course. “ Greg replied. “Have a good time and don't eat too many pancakes. Let me just have a word with Laura. Love you, mate.”

 

“Love you too, Dad. Here she is.”

 

“Will that be okay?” asked Laura. 

 

“Sure. I just wanted to say that I’m going to see my Mum so if you drop him off there instead of here, that’d be great.” The solution to his dilemma had just become blindingly obvious. If he could talk to anyone, it was his mum.

 

“What’s her address?” asked Laura. Greg told her.

 

“Okay, see you soon.” And she hung up.

 

Greg showered and shaved and drove over to his mother’s house. It was a neat little semi in a quiet street. Greg walked up the short path and knocked on the door.

 

“Hello, darling. I wasn't expecting to see you today,” said his Mum as she ushered him inside.

 

“Not interrupting anything, am I?”

 

“No, Jim’s coming for dinner but that’s not for ages. Fancy a brew?”

 

“Yeah. Thanks, Mum.”

Greg sat in his accustomed chair, the warm familiarity of the house soothing him and the delicious aromas coming from the kitchen had him drooling.

 

Alice Lestrade reappeared with two mugs of tea and a plate of freshly-baked scones dripping with butter. Greg tried not to inhale the whole plateful. He loved his Mum’s baking.

 

“Where’s Stephen,” asked Alice.

 

“Gone out for breakfast with Sean and his family. I’ve told them to drop him off here.”

 

“Okay, that’s nice of them. Look, Greg it’s not that I don’t love seeing you but something’s bothering you. What’s the matter, love?”

 

Greg sighed, unsure of where to start.

 

“I kissed Mycroft last night,” he confessed.

 

“Finally. And?”

 

“What do you mean,  _ finally? _ ” asked Greg.

 

“Oh, Greg. That’s been on the cards for ages. I wondered how long it would take you.”

 

“Oh.” Greg felt quite deflated.

 

“He adores you. Anyone with eyes can see it.”

 

“I love him, “ Greg said quietly. “But I don’t want to hurt him.”

 

“Why would you hurt him?”

 

“ I don’t know that I can love him enough. He’s a brilliant friend, the best I’ve ever had, but if we start a relationship and it doesn’t work out, what then? I’ll lose him. Stephen will be heartbroken. And I don’t know that I’m ready for it to become physical yet. It would feel like…” he couldn’t go on.

 

“It would feel like you’re cheating on Cara. Greg, you’re being ridiculous.” 

 

He looked up, surprised. Alice looked quite stern.

 

“You can’t be unfaithful to a dead person. And I knew Cara, she wouldn’t want you to be lonely, not as long as you remember her. Sometimes you have to take a chance. You told me Mycroft feels things more than other people?”

 

Greg hadn’t told his mum the whole truth about Mycroft, theorising it was his tale to tell if he wanted to.

 

“Yeah, he does.”

 

“Then the next time you see him, he’ll probably feel how conflicted you are. The best thing you can do is be honest with him. And find out what he wants. Then work it out between you. At least you will both have been honest with each other.”

 

Greg got up and kissed her.

 

“You’re right,” he sighed. “I knew I’d get the best advice from you.”

 

“That’s what mums are for. Now, come and help me with the veg. You know how I hate peeling potatoes.”

  
  
  


Later that day, Stephen was still buzzing about his sleepover and what a cool house Sean had. Greg ruffled his son’s hair affectionately.

 

“I’m pleased you’ve got a proper friend, “ he said. “Do you want him to stay over on your birthday?”

 

Stephen perked up and grinned.

 

“That would be so cool, Dad.” he exclaimed and hugged Greg.

 

“Okay, I’ll talk to his mums. Now, how about you help me pick out a film for tonight?”

 

“Is Mycroft coming?” asked Stephen excitedly.

 

“Mycroft and Charlie.” Greg confirmed.

 

“Yay! “

 

Greg smiled. He couldn't help himself. Now that the genie was out of the bottle…

 

“How would you feel about seeing Mycroft more?”

 

Stephen looked at his father quizzically.

 

“We see loads of him already. I really like him. He’s always nice to me and he really likes you. Is he going to be your boyfriend?”

 

“Would that bother you if he was?”

 

Stephen shook his head decisively. “No, because he makes you happy, Dad, and I know you miss Mum and get sad sometimes.”

 

“Okay then, “ said Greg thickly.”lets go and find a film.”

  
  
  


Mycroft was as punctual as ever and they settled down in front of the TV to watch 

_ Avengers Assemble _ with Greg strategically covering Stephen’s eyes at certain bits while Charlie snored at their feet.

 

Greg came back from tucking Stephen into bed and sat beside Mycroft on the sofa.

 

“We should talk,” he began.

 

“Yes, we should,” replied Mycroft. He was smiling as Greg took a deep breath.

 

“About last night…” he began. Mycroft held up a hand and Greg stopped talking.

 

“It was a wonderful kiss, Greg. And I would very much like it to happen again but I know you’re having doubts. Whatever happens is up to you. I won’t make any demands on you or do anything that makes you feel uncomfortable. Just let whatever is going to happen happen. However long it takes.”

 

“I’m sorry, “ said Greg. “You deserve a better boyfriend than that.”

 

Mycroft gave another of his soft laughs

 

“Maybe. But you’re the man I’m in love with, so whatever it takes is fine with me.”

 

Greg’s pulse went into the stratosphere.

 

“I do love you, “ he confessed and he saw the delight in Mycroft’s eyes. “All I’m asking is that you be a bit patient with me.”

 

“And you with me. It’s been a really long time since I had a relationship, Greg. I’m more than willing to let you take the lead in this.”

 

“Okay then, “ smiled Greg, leaning in to kiss him.

 

It was even better than last night. Mycroft felt incredible in his arms and Greg sighed with pleasure as his tongue gently explored Mycroft’s mouth.

 

Both were a bit breathless when the kiss broke.

 

“I should go, “ said Mycroft regretfully. “Even though I don’t want to.”

 

Greg sighed but he knew Mycroft was right.

 

“Ring me when you get home, “ he insisted.

 

Mycroft pecked him gently on the lips.

 

“I promise. Come on, Charlie. Time to go.”

 

Greg smiled to himself as he settled into bed later.

 

“He loves me!” he whispered gleefully and hugged himself.

  
  
  


TBC.

  
  
  
  



	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a day at the museum, things turn a bit steamy.

CHAPTER NINE

_ Mycroft _

“Hi, Grace” said Mycroft as she opened her front door.

“Come in then,” she smiled, letting him and Charlie through.

“Are you sure you don't mind?” asked Mycroft anxiously.

“Of course not. He just snoozes most of the time unless you're in the kitchen. I'll walk him later. Did you bring his food?”

Mycroft held up one of the bags he was holding and she took it from him.

”What are you up to today?” she asked. “Recording session?”

“No. It's Greg's boy's birthday and Stephen asked me to spend the day with them. It's not fair to leave Charlie for too long.”

Grace’s smile broadened even further.

“So you and Greg? Oh, Mycroft I'm made up for you. He's lovely. You deserve all the happiness in the world, sweetheart.” And she hugged him.

He hugged her back, taking pleasure in her joy for him.

“It's early days yet, “ he said. “But it's going well.”

“Fantastic!” she grinned. “You can tell me all about it tomorrow when you pick Charlie up. By the way, do you still want me to have him for Cheltenham?”

“I feel like I'm imposing,” said Mycroft. 

“You're not, I've already told you. He's quite happy here or at the cafe. Are you doing the whole three days?”

“Yes, if that's okay. Etta has asked for me personally.”

“Etta James? Wow! Mind you, why wouldn't she want the best,” Grace was thoroughly impressed. Mycroft smiled. Then a car horn hooted outside at the same time as Mycroft's phone sounded with a text alert.

“That'll be the car,” said Mycroft. “Thanks again, Gracie. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Don't forget the bag,” she cautioned, picking it up. “What's in there? It weighs a ton.”

“A trilobite fossil and a new Arsenal shirt. “ he told her. “See you.”

The car, a sleek black Jaguar, complete with driver was waiting at the gate.

“Good morning, Mr Holmes.” he said deferentially. 

“Morning. Did the company fit the booster cushions as I requested? “

“Yes, sir. Suitable for eight years and above.”

“Excellent. Right, Kensington first, then the Natural History Museum. After that, I'm not sure.”

“It's fine, sir. Your contract is till ten o'clock. Get in.”

Mycroft got in the back, revelling in the new car smell. The driver....hmmm. Someone who genuinely enjoyed his work. Currently relieved he's not chauffeuring bored executives to pointless meetings. Extremely patient.

Content, Mycroft sat back and enjoyed the journey.

When they arrived at Greg's house he told the driver to wait as he didn't know how long they would be.

Greg answered the door and let Mycroft in with a smile.

“We're waiting for Sean,” he said. “Stephen's upstairs.”

“Come here then,” smiled Mycroft, taking Greg in his arms and kissing him.

Their relationship was blossoming slowly; they were getting used to each other, getting comfortable with being intimate with one other. It was perfect.

Stephen came thundering down the stairs and they parted. 

“Happy Birthday, Stephen.” said Mycroft, handing him the carrier bag.

“Thank you, Mycroft. Dad bought me a bluray player so I can watch my favourite films.”

The two men watched as he ripped off the wrapping paper on the first present.

“Oh, wow!” he exclaimed, his eyes full of glee as he looked inside the box and its nest of cotton wool. “A trilobite! Look, Dad. A real trilobite! Wait till Sean sees it. He'll be so jealous!”

“Very nice,” smiled Greg. “What's in the other one?” 

There was more ripping of paper, then..

“The new Arsenal shirt. Oh, wow!”

Stephen launched himself at Mycroft and hugged him.

“Thank you. Thank you. This is the best birthday ever!”

Mycroft and Greg exchanged fond glances over Stephen's head.

“You're very welcome.” said Mycroft. “The shirt is from Charlie. He'll probably lick you to death next time he sees you.”

“Where is he?” asked Stephen.

“My friend Grace is looking after him so I can spend all day with you and your dad.”

“I'm glad,” said Stephen. “Today wouldn't be the same without you. “

The doorbell rang and Stephen nearly went into orbit.

“They're here!” he squeaked and rushed to answer the door.

Two women and a small boy with a mop of blond curly hair and thick glasses followed Stephen back into the living room. One woman was small and fair, the other taller with jet black hair and olive skin.

Mycroft saw how they looked at him, uncertainty and suspicion was rife in both of them. He thought he’d better introduce himself. 

“Hello,” said Mycroft.

“Oh my god!” exclaimed the smaller woman. Mycroft was hit with a blast of recognition and excitement. “You’re Mycroft Holmes! Oh, I’m such a fan. Elise, it’s the trumpet player I’ve been going on about for ages. Greg, you kept that quiet.”

Before either of the two men could say anything, Stephen chimed in.

“Mycroft is Dad’s boyfriend.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I never...um.” Laura, shut up, flustered.

“Trust my wife to put her foot in it,” said Elise. “It’s lovely to meet you Mycroft. Stephen has mentioned you a lot. This is our son Sean.”

“‘Lo,” said the blond boy shyly.

“Hi Sean. Looking forward to today?”

“Uh huh.”

Laura handed Greg a list of phone numbers where they could both be reached, and an overnight bag, arranging to pick Sean up the next morning. They kissed their son goodbye, exhorting him to be good and left.

“Come and dump your stuff in my room,” offered Stephen. “Then we can go. Mycroft’s got a Jag, you know.”

“Really? Wow!”

The two boys disappeared upstairs and Greg exhaled noisily

“It’s okay,” soothed Mycroft. “His mums aren't remotely suspicious of me now. And now Stephen’s told him I’ve got a Jag, he may never want to leave.”

Greg smiled at that as the two boys reappeared in the living room.

“All set?” asked Greg.

“Mr Lestrade, will you keep hold of my spending money? I'm afraid I’ll lose it.” asked Sean.

“Of course I will. Right, you lot. Let’s not keep the driver waiting.”

The Natural History Museum was the perfect place for two dinosaur-obsessed little boys, they spent hours poring over the fossils and reconstructions. Sean had come completely out of his shell by that time and talked nineteen to the dozen to Stephen. Greg had to almost physically drag them out of the Blue Zone and into the cafe for lunch.

“Is it hard to play the trumpet?” Sean asked Mycroft at the table.

“It can be. It takes a lot of practice. Do you want to learn an instrument?”

“I wouldn't mind. Mum plays jazz at home all the time, but some of it doesn’t make sense.”

Mycroft laughed. “No, some of it doesn’t. My brother plays the violin but he’s not interested in jazz at all. He prefers classical music.”

“Maybe I’ll start with the guitar,” said Sean doubtfully.

“Can we go to the Green Zone next?” asked Stephen through a mouthful of sandwich. “There’s a stegosaurus in there.”

“Oh, my favourite!” exclaimed Sean and they grinned at each other.

After they had had their fill of the museum, and Stephen left clutching a fluffy diplodocus as Sean’s birthday gift to him, it was dinner time and they got a table at Pizza Express.

Both boys looked at Mycroft when he ordered the vegetarian special.

“I don’t eat meat,” he explained gently. “And I haven’t for years.”

“Makes me feel a bit guilty for ordering a meat feast,” said Greg.

“Don't be daft,” smiled Mycroft and their fingers twined together under the table out of sight.

By the time they made it back to Greg's house, both boys were flagging. Greg marshalled them upstairs to get into their pyjamas and brush their teeth while Mycroft opened a bottle of wine.

Both came down to say goodnight.

“It’s been the best birthday ever,” said Stephen, hugging Mycroft. “Will I see you and Charlie soon?”

“Soon, I promise,” said Mycroft. “Sean, it was lovely to meet you, I hope to see you again.”

“Thanks, Mr Holmes. Goodnight.”

They were still talking as they went upstairs and Mycroft heard the door shut.

He sat on the sofa with Greg in his arms, sipping wine by lamplight, relaxing  into each other’s embrace.

“I love you,” whispered Greg, turning so he could kiss Mycroft.

They lay tangled on the sofa, Mycroft savouring the taste of wine on Greg’s lips and the  arousal that he could feel building in both of them. He moaned as Greg’s warm hand slipped inside his shirt, stroking his skin. He could feel himself blushing at how much Greg wanted him, his cock hard against his hip and Mycroft was in no better condition.

Then, inexplicably, Greg started to laugh.

“I’m sorry, “ he giggled, taking in Mycroft’s look of surprise.”It’s just, I feel like I’m sixteen again, snogging on the sofa. I should have known better because I kept getting caught.”

“I bet you were a right randy little sod when you were young,” teased Mycroft.

“My mum found me and Billy McPhail on her sofa with our shirts off and me with a huge love bite on my shoulder. We had The Talk that night. Then three weeks later she caught me with Tracy Brown and me with my hand up her skirt. She thought I was confused. I know she was, but it worked out in the end. Apart from the serious case of blue balls.”

Mycroft laughed at the mental picture he was getting.

“Speaking of which, “ he said regretfully. “I should go home, even though the last thing I want to do is leave this sofa. It wouldn’t be right for the boys to find me here in the morning.”

“Yeah, “ said Greg with a shade of disappointment. “You’re right. Look, Stephen is going to his grandmother’s in Italy when the schools break up. I’d really love it if you would come and stay with me when he’s not here. I want to make love to you, Mycroft. I know how soppy that sounds but I love you so much it wouldn’t just be a fuck.”

“I will. I promise. And I love you too. Sex is one of the most intense things for me, which is why I’ve avoided it for so long but I want you, Greg.You and I will be sensational together.”

“We already are,” smiled Greg. “Ring me when you’re home safe, love. I’m going for a very cold shower.”

Mycroft kissed him goodbye and went out to the waiting car, heading for a cold shower of his own.

TBC


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone at last. Though not without a bump or two on the way. Finally complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains scenes of a sexual nature.
> 
> The jazz festival mentioned actually takes place in May but I changed the timing to fit
> 
> Much love to Black_Dawn and Egmon73 without whom this would have gone nowhere. I love you both.

CHAPTER TEN

 

_ Greg _

 

Greg smiled to himself as he watched Stephen attempting to pack for his holiday.

 

“Mate, you're going to have to pack some underpants. I know your fossils and Dippy are important but you're going to need actual clothes.”

 

Stephen frowned and slumped on his bed. Greg realised he was looking at a small-boy sulk.

 

“I don't want to go.” huffed Stephen.

 

“Why not?” asked Greg. “You love going to see your Nonna. All your cousins will be there and you can spend all day swimming.”

 

His pep talk didn't seem to be working. Greg tried again.

 

“And I'll be there for a few days as well. There's always Skype when I'm not. Sean’s mum says you can talk to him anytime, you won't miss us that much.”

 

Stephen looked positively mutinous and Greg sighed.

 

“Listen, son. If you really don't want to go, that's fine. All I want is for you to be happy. Just say the word and I'll ring Nonna now and tell her you want to stay at home.”

 

“Can I think about it?” asked Stephen.

 

“Yeah, but you'll have to make your mind up quickly. We're supposed to be going on Saturday.”

 

“Okay, Dad. I think I’ll go to bed now.”

 

Defeated, Greg went downstairs.

 

“I don’t know why he doesn’t want to go,” he said to Mycroft on the phone later. “He normally loves it there. He doesn’t speak a word of English for a month and comes back as brown as a berry. His Nonna has a villa and it’s full of kids and dogs and they’re never out of the water. It’s paradise.”

 

“I think he’s got a lot more to miss this time,” suggested Mycroft. 

 

“I’ve already told him we can Skype all the time. Sean can too.”

 

“It’s not quite the same though, is it?”

 

“No, you’re right. I tell you what, love. I don't relish having to tell Cara’s mother he doesn’t want to come. She detests me as it is. This won’t help change her mind about me.”

 

“Probably not, but you have to do what’s best for Stephen.”

 

“Yeah, you’re right.” agreed Greg. “ What are you doing this weekend?”

 

“I’ve got a recording session on Saturday with a new singer. She’s got a great voice but it’s modern jazz. I’m going to have to play the trumpet with gritted teeth. No easy task, I can assure you, darling.”

 

Greg could almost feel Mycroft’s disapproval radiating down the phone line and he smiled.

 

“Then I’ll see you at Cheltenham. I got the Access All Areas passes this morning. I’m really looking forward to it.”

 

“As am I. And I’m not just talking about playing with Etta James.”

 

Greg laughed. “You’re a terrible man, Mycroft Holmes.”

 

“I am. And that’s why you love me. One of the reasons.”

 

“One of many. I’d better go and see if the Incredible Sulk has made his mind up. I love you.”

 

“I love you more. See you soon, Greg.”

  
  
  


*

 

In the end, the thought of long, sunny days splashing around in Lake Como won and Greg and Stephen flew out to Italy.

 

Greg managed to keep the peace with Cara’s family by biting his tongue and sneaking away to ring Mycroft whenever he could. Mycroft was always so busy and full of news that Greg thought he couldn’t possibly be missing him.

 

He flew back to London on a sultry summer night. He just had enough time to go home and pack a weekend bag before jumping into his car and driving to Gloucestershire. He had had the sense to book a hotel room before going to Italy and was glad because Cheltenham was packed with people, all there for the annual Jazz Festival. Greg couldn’t help but smile when he saw Mycroft’s name on the posters. This was Mycroft’s world and Greg was very much looking forward to getting a glimpse of it.

 

His pass gained him entry and he wandered around, no idea of what was going on, just drinking in the atmosphere, stopping every now and then to sketch something that caught his eye.

 

Greg would no more have gone out without a sketchbook and pencils than he would have gone out without trousers and there was a wealth of material right here.

 

The main stage was crowded out but he made his way past security to the wings, where Mycroft was on stage with Etta James. He looked incredible in a lounge suit without a tie and Greg started to want him very badly. He didn’t think Mycroft had seen him until Ms James said.

 

“This is a special request from my favourite trumpet player for the love of his life.”

 

Then she began to sing and Greg was entranced, especially with the last verse.

 

_ My life revolves around you _

 

_ What earthly good am I without you _

 

_ Oh I tell you I mean it _

 

_ I’m all for you body and soul _

 

At that part, Mycroft turned to Greg and saluted him with his trumpet and Greg felt his heart fail.

 

He was patient; after three encores she called time on the set and the musicians left the stage. In Mycroft’s case it was straight into Greg’s waiting arms.

 

“I missed you so much,” groaned Greg when they finally drew breath.

 

“Me too,” replied Mycroft. “Let’s go, Greg. I don’t think I can wait much longer.”

 

The door of the hotel bedroom closed decisively behind them and they embraced again. There was no sense of urgency, both taking the time to appreciate what they had waited so long for as they kissed and caressed, their hands touching, exploring, till they were both naked.

 

Greg drew Mycroft down onto the bed and kissed him again.

 

“You’re fucking beautiful,” he whispered. And he was, pupils blown, his hair in disarray where Greg hadn’t been able to stop running his fingers through it, a loving smile on his kiss-reddened lips.

 

“Come here,” said Mycroft softly. “And show me just how much you missed me.”

 

It had been a very long time since Greg had been with another man but this was Mycroft. His Mycroft who could feel everything. Judging by the small ecstatic sounds he was making, Greg was doing something right. He kissed every inch of Mycroft’s skin, trailing his lips up his thigh to caress his hard length, slowly preparing him with slick, gentle fingers till Mycroft was begging Greg to fuck him.

 

Sliding into Mycroft’s wet heat was almost Greg’s undoing so he stilled, concentrating on the feel of Mycroft's legs wrapped around his waist, his warm skin damp with their sweat, his ragged breathing, until he built up a slow rhythm that had them both gasping with pleasure, then faster until he couldn’t hold back any longer, biting down on Mycroft’s shoulder as he climaxed. He felt Mycroft pulse in his grip and cry out as his own orgasm took him.

 

In the aftermath they held each other close.

 

“That was worth waiting for,” sighed Greg happily.

 

“Yes it was,” agreed Mycroft with a contented smile.”So intense, I felt every heartbeat.”

 

“ I’m all for you, body and soul,” sang Greg in a wavering baritone that set Mycroft off laughing quietly.

 

“Greg Lestrade, you have pair of cloth ears. I’d quite like to spend the rest of my days teaching you how to sing that properly.Though I do appreciate the effort.”

 

“It might take the rest of our days at that,” agreed Greg and kissed him again.

 

*

 

_ Six Months Later - Greg and Mycroft _

 

In the living room of their new house, Mycroft dropped the packing case, stood up and wiped his face with both hands.

 

“I think that’s the lot for in here,” he said.

 

Everywhere was strewn with boxes and bags. Charlie had claimed a spot by the fireplace and was watching from his bed with interest in case there was sausage in there somewhere that they’d forgotten.

 

Greg was rummaging in another box when Stephen came in.

 

“Mycroft, I can’t find Dippy!” he wailed.

 

“All right, let’s go and see if we can find him, shall we?” smiled Mycroft, following the boy out of the room.

 

It took some time but the errant dinosaur was found and Mycroft tucked Stephen into bed, promising him that finding his books was the next thing on their agenda. Satisfied, Stephen closed his eyes.

 

Mycroft went back downstairs. For a second he thought he’d walked into the wrong room.

 

The living room was lit with candles and there was a sheet hastily thrown over an upturned packing case which served as a table. Resting on it was a bottle and two glasses.

 

“What’s all this?” asked Mycroft with a smile. Then he felt it. Greg was incredibly nervous.

 

“Greg, I can feel there’s something wrong. What is it?”

 

Greg laughed. “I can never hide anything from you, can I?” Then he grew serious.

 

“There’s something…” 

 

Then he dropped to one knee.

 

“Will you marry me?”

 

Mycroft gasped, feeling his eyes well up with tears.

 

“Yes. Yes of course I will. I love you.”

 

Greg stood up and took Mycroft in his arms.

 

“That’s good, cos I love you too. And I’m thrilled I’ve got the rest of my life to prove how much.”

  
  
  


THE END.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
